


Blood Tomorrow

by kjack89



Series: True Blood AU [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Swearing, True Blood AU, Vampire!Grantaire, Vampire!Joly, Vampire!Marius, Vampire!Patron-Minette, Vampire!Valjean, Vampire!Éponine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True Blood AU. Grantaire is an almost 900 year old vampire who has spent his second life avoiding politics of any variety. But when he falls for the human leader of an equal rights organization, he finds himself drawn into the politics he has tried so hard to avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're in my Blood like Holy Wine

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write Vampire!Grantaire.
> 
> Set in the same 'verse as True Blood, where vampires can drink synthetic blood and humans know that they exist. That's about where similarities to True Blood end, and no real knowledge of True Blood is required.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: if it seems familiar to you, I probably don't own it. All mistakes are rather unfortunately my own. Title is from a quote from the Brick: "There is nothing like dream to create the future. Utopia today, flesh and blood tomorrow."

"I'm bored," Grantaire announced, flopping down on the couch, taking care not to spill the bottle that he had just opened. 

Éponine didn't look up from the book she was reading. "You're always bored nowadays. Or, more accurately, you're always  _boring_."

Grantaire stuck his tongue out at her, and, still without looking up, she raised her middle finger at him. Scowling, Grantaire took a gulp from the bottle, making a face at the contents. "You know, I could  _make_  you entertain me."

"You could try," said Éponine calmly, setting the book down to arch an eyebrow at him. "But I'm not fucking you just because you're bored. Again."

Grantaire's scowl deepened. "That wasn't what I meant."

Éponine grinned. "The hell it wasn't."

Grantaire was in too dour a mood to joke with her over this the way he would have - the way he had - on other nights. "This whole  _life_  is boring. There's no more hunting, no more excitement. And this--" He lifted the bottle mockingly "--doesn't even come close to tasting like the real thing."

"You could try going out," Éponine suggested. "You know, drinking a little, dancing a little, getting laid by a stranger and sucking his blood. The whole world's open to us now; you don't even have to hide who you are." When he didn't say anything, she nudged him with her shoulder. "C'mon. You  _used_  to be fun."

"I used to be a lot of things," Grantaire muttered, draining the bottle and setting it on the coffee table. "Now I'm just bored."

"I suppose I shouldn't complain," Éponine drawled, flashing her fangs at him in a cheeky grin. "Boredom was what led you to turn me, after all."

Grantaire snorted, but didn't - couldn't - deny it. Of course, that had been a long time ago, and a very different kind of boredom, the kind that came with turning 800 years old, the kind that tempted him to just walk outside in the middle of the day if only to break up the monotony of endless night. "You're one to talk," he said instead, eyes flickering pointedly over to the perpetually confused looking young vampire named Marius that Éponine had turned only, what, five years ago now? "Oh, but I forgot," he said slowly, his own mouth curling into a smirk, "that wasn't boredom, that was  _desperation_."

Éponine hissed, eyes flashing, but she couldn't deny it either, which made Grantaire's smirk all the more smug. "Fine," she announced haughtily, tossing her dark hair. "Sit here and sulk. See if I care." She turned and strode away, a feline grace to her walk that even after all his centuries as a vampire Grantaire still seemed to lack.

_So he thought, anyway, but poets could write - and through the centuries, routinely had written - odes to his dark swagger, to a grace that was perhaps less feline but infinitely more fatal_.

His wandering attention turned to the television, where the news was reporting on a group of pro-vampires' rights activists from a protest early in the day. They were all human, of course -  _fangbangers_ , Grantaire thought dismissively - until his eyes caught sight of a glorious human, pale as marble with golden hair that caught the sun like a halo. His fangs started to emerge and he bit his lip in an attempt to stem his sudden lust.

This protestor looked different than the rest, some with their fake fangs and pale painted skin. He didn't bear a poster dripping with fake blood or any of the other awful accoutrements that the humans, desperate to be claimed by a vamp, used, as if they thought it was somehow appealing. Maybe to one of the younger vampires, but Grantaire had lived through the ages of stakes and silver and didn't much care to repeat it even in jest.

But this human - he had none of that. His t-shirt was not black but red, and simply said, "With liberty and justice for all", while his protest sign read, rather cheekily in Grantaire's opinion, "We all have the same blood in us."

Which wasn't entirely wrong - just that humans' blood was in their veins, whereas human blood would be in a vampire's stomach. 

Still, Grantaire's mouth couldn't help but curve into a smile as he read it. And - just his luck - the news reporter had apparently noticed this Apollo-incarnate as well, stepping over to him to ask some questions. It turned out that the human was head of an equal rights organization with some douchey French pun for a name.

Regardless of the name, Grantaire was beginning to feel excited about something for the first time in a long time, especially when the blond godling announced that their next meeting was tonight, at a bar not too far from where Grantaire was currently staying.

Grantaire stood before he could reconsider. “I’m going out,” he announced. No one responded, which was not entirely surprising – as the eldest among them, Grantaire did many things on his own, which was also exacerbated by the fact that he often had fits of melancholy that required him being on his own for a bit (a few hours, weeks, months, the one time he had disappeared for two decades…).

He stepped outside, sucking in a breath of what he assumed was cool night air. He hadn't tasted daylight in almost a millenium, and as he no longer felt the differences in temperatures, he had to assume that the air was as chilly as he remembered, as if from a dream.

Shaking his head slightly, he took off in the direction of the bar. It was his first time going into town (they normally sent Marius in when they needed more bottled blood, as he was the most human still among them), and so it took him a few minutes to arrive at the bar mentioned in the TV interview, a dive of a place called the Musain. Grantaire had spent much of his second life hanging around at sorry-looking places much like this, so he was hardly unnerved by the sight.

As soon as he walked in, conversation halted in the bar, and the bartender looked at him appraisingly. "You'll be wanting to go upstairs," she said, giving him a friendly smile. "That's where the others like you are."

He smiled tightly at her, mentally wondering what she meant by others like him. He was unaware of another nest in the area, but other solitary vampires lived in the area.

Solitary vampires such as the one he saw as he walked in.

"Joly," said Grantaire, surprised, but trying not to let it color his voice. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Joly started and looked at Grantaire with wide eyes before bowing his head in the appropriate sign of reverence to a vampire of Grantaire's age (Grantaire rolled his eyes while Joly’s head was bowed). “Grantaire,” he said carefully. “I, uh, I wouldn’t have expected this to be your scene. I didn’t think you were political.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “I didn’t think you were political either.”

Were Joly able to blush, he surely would have; as it was, his eyes flickered to the human at his side, with whom he held hands. “We got involved back during the Human-Vampire Marriage Act campaign,” Joly muttered.

Ah, yes, the Human-Vampire Marriage Act. It had been a fantastic failure as the congressmen successfully argued that until there was a scientific way to prove that the humans weren't being compelled to marry a vampire, there could be no clear consent from the human party.

Which was the biggest joke of all because almost none of the vampires Grantaire knew even cared about monogamy, let alone marriage. The few odd ones, like Joly, were in such committed relationships that you could  _tell_  there was no glamour involved.

Still, more to relieve Joly of his obvious embarrassment than anything, Grantaire said quickly, “It is true that I don’t consider myself political, in vampire politics and especially in human politics. But I was in the area and heard about the meeting so thought I’d stop by to check it out.”

Joly swallowed and licked his lips. Grantaire knew there must be a thousand different questions Joly wanted to ask – particularly about Grantaire’s current political affiliations within the vampire world, affiliations that could have drastic consequences for the activist group just by Grantaire’s mere presence – but thankfully Joly did not voice any of them, though once Grantaire had moved past, he could see Joly bend his head to talk to his human companion in an undertone.

Grantaire could have eavesdropped easily, vampire hearing being significantly better than human hearing, but he had caught sight of the very reason why he was here: the blond human, standing at the front of the room, deep in conversation with another human. Grantaire felt his fangs try and slide out, and he had to physically swallow his lust, hoping his emotions weren’t too obvious as he crossed to him. “Excuse me,” he said, as politely as he could, knowing that his “people skills” were rusty at best.

The blond turned to face him, and Grantaire bit back a grin at how his eyes widened as he realized who – or rather what – Grantaire was. “Hi,” said the blond’s companion, a rather serious-looking brown-haired man with glasses. “Welcome to Les Amis de l’ABC. Are you interested in our cause?”

“Interested is one word for it,” said Grantaire, half-smiling, not taking his eyes from the blond, who looked like he was trying to regain his composure.

After a beat, the blond extended his hand for a handshake. “My name is Enjolras,” he said, voice cool and far more collected than he had originally looked. “This is Combeferre. We’re glad to have you attend one of our meetings.”

Grantaire shook Enjolras’s hand, taking care not to squeeze too tightly – _so fragile, humans_ – and repeated his name, letting it roll off of his tongue. “Enjolras,” he said, smiling slightly. “I am Grantaire.”

"Are you friends with Joly?" asked Combeferre, glancing at where Joly was still looking with concern at Grantaire.

Smiling slightly, Grantaire said, "Joly and I are old acquaintances, going back almost a century now. I met him not too long after he had been turned."

Enjolras looked at him carefully. "You were already a vampire then?"

Grantaire's smile widened, and though he knew his fangs were partially extended, he made no move to hide them. "I had already been a vampire for some 800 years," he said cheerfully.

If Enjolras had looked taken aback before, he looked downright shocked now, as did Combeferre. They had undoubtedly never encountered a vampire of Grantaire's age, which was unsurprising. Most vampires of Grantaire's age were in authority positions, positions that kept them away from prying human eyes.

But as Grantaire had little desire to join the ranks of the Authority, he had avoided such positions, had in fact avoided most contact with other vampires beside his progeny. So he had spent much of the last few centuries more or less as much in hiding as he could, even after the Great Revelation. In fact, other than strangers he had glamoured into letting him drink their blood, these were the first humans he had talked to...in longer than he cared to think about.

Combeferre recovered just before Enjolras, and said quickly, "Why don't you have a seat, order a bottle of blood if you want? We'll be getting started soon."

Grantaire smiled at both if them and inclined his head, heading back downstairs to the bar, where he ordered a bottle of AB+. On his way down the stairs, though, he caught sight of Enjolras making a beeline to Joly, no doubt to question Joly about Grantaire. This did not bother Grantaire - there was little that Joly could tell, other than the fact that Grantaire was a loner who stayed out of politics of any variety. His mouth curved in a grin as he pictured Enjolras’s face as he furiously tried to figure out why a vampire with no caring for mortal affairs would grace their meeting.

Wouldn’t he like to know.

When Grantaire received his bottle of TrueBlood, he brought it back upstairs, settling into a corner where he could observe and listen. That had been his only intention, after all, coming to the meeting to listen to what these humans had to say while admiring the admittedly glorious view.

But not even fifteen minutes into the proceedings, he found himself snorting into his bottle, and the room fell silent as Enjolras glared at him. “Is there a problem?” he asked curtly, clearly unused to being interrupted.

Grantaire smiled. “No, no problem.”

Combeferre and Enjolras exchanged glances, and Combeferre said carefully, “If you have something to contribute, we would love to hear from a vampire with your experience.”

“You mean a vampire as old as I am,” Grantaire supplied, though not maliciously. He looked calculatingly at the pair, then smiled wider. “Very well, if you wish. I merely find your notion of equality...laughably naïve.”

The look Enjolras gave him could have melted paint off the walls, and Grantaire’s grin grew even wider at its intensity. “Laughably _naïve_?” Enjolras repeated, as though through clenched teeth, and Grantaire smiled sweetly.

“Yes. Naïve. You speak of Equality as concept that all vampires desire and aspire to, but I must question whether you’ve actually spoken to vampires about what they see as equality. You forget that vampire and human are automatically unequal due to nature. Or do you deem yourself capable of the same physical exertions as a vampire?”

Enjolras’s face colored slightly, but he retorted steadily, “Physical differences are not grounds for inequality.”

“Then you wish to raise humans to the level of vampire,” Grantaire returned coolly, “for in no world would a vampire deem to sink to the level of human. You have not been speaking to vampires, and thus your notions of equality are sadly ungrounded in reality.”

This time the eyes in the room flickered over to Joly, who was looking appalled by the way the conversation had gone, and Grantaire’s smile turned cold. “Joly is an exception, as I’m sure he’d be more than happy to confirm, particularly if I asked him to.”

“If you have such a problem with our methods,” Enjolras seethed, “then what would you suggest?”

Grantaire’s grin brightened and he settled back in his seat, raising the bottle to his lips. “I’m not here to offer suggestions, just to observe. And I’ll let you get back to your little meeting.”

Enjolras’s face was scarlet by this point, and a muscle twitched in his jaw at Grantaire’s ‘little meeting’ jibe, and though he tried to get back to the meeting back on track, the mood was too uneasy to continue for long. It quickly broke up, everyone heading their separate ways, and Enjolras made a beeline to Grantaire. He stood looking at Grantaire for a moment, as if trying to find the words to speak, and said stiffly, “May I speak with you?”

“It is, as you say, a free country,” said Grantaire easily, finishing the bottle of blood and standing in one fluid motion. “I am, however, about to head back to mine. If you would like, you can accompany me.”

If Enjolras noticed the subtext in that statement, he didn’t mention it, instead following Grantaire outside after shrugging on his red pea coat, breath clouding in front of his face when they reached the cold night air. He looked sideways at Grantaire, blushed, and looked down at the ground. “You dislike our group.”

Grantaire looked at him, surprised. “I admire your group, and the tenacity you possess. It is a losing battle you fight, but you fight it nonetheless. It is merely your aims with which I have qualms.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand. I thought you, of all people--”

He broke off, and Grantaire smiled slightly. “You thought a vampire would understand what you’re trying to achieve? I do understand, Enjolras, I promise, and it’s not that I don’t find the cause noble, just...unachievable.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, Enjolras turning Grantaire’s words over in his head, Grantaire mostly trying not to ogle the man at his side. Finally, Enjolras said in a odd-sounding voice, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t sound like you’re 900 years old.”

Laughing, Grantaire shrugged. “I spend much of my time watching television, as there is little else to do now that we no longer need to hunt for food, and as I prefer to spend time away from others of my kind, my progeny excluded.”

Enjolras frowned deeply. “You spend most of your time _watching_ \--” He broke off, inhaling sharply through his nose. Grantaire gave him a concerned look, and Enjolras continued roughly, “You think watching television is the best use of your time?”

“What else is there to do?” asked Grantaire easily, as if he were unconcernedly by Enjolras’s reaction.

Enjolras’s jaw tightened, and Grantaire had to admit that the already flawless human looked even better when distinctly angry, and it took all his self-control not to let his fangs slide out. "Is it true you could be a king?" Enjolras demanded abruptly.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, wondering not for the first time how Enjolras had managed to get so much information about the vampire political structure, information that vampires had tried to keep hidden from humans, since their forms of…political negotiation, one could call it, violated dozens of laws and most of the Geneva Convention. "I am old enough and have enough friends in high places that yes, I could reasonably challenge for a kingship were I so inclined."

Enjolras frowned. "But you're not so inclined?"

Cocking his head slightly, Grantaire smiled, a little grimly. “Why in the world would I be so inclined?”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “As a king you would be able to have a large impact on the policies of the vampires not only in your region but perhaps across the country. Not to mention you’d be in the perfect position to advocate for vampire rights.”

Grantaire couldn’t help it – he laughed. “What need do I have for some human notion of vampire rights? I am almost 900 years old Enjolras, and have survived for all of them without so-called ‘rights’.”

“Survived, maybe,” Enjolras acknowledged. “But have you lived?”

Now Grantaire frowned, his eyes dark, and when he spoke, it was in a growl. “I do not live. I am a vampire, not a human. If I so wanted I could have you, here and now, and make you want it. I could drink your blood until you were no more than a husk and be in another country before anyone even knew. I could snap your puny human neck without a second thought.”

“But you won’t.” Enjolras’s voice was barely a whisper.

Grantaire smiled grimly. “No. I won’t. But that has a hell of a lot more to do with how pretty your neck is than how connected I am with humanity.”

Enjolras flushed, and Grantaire subconsciously licked his lips slightly at the sight. “I…I’m not…I mean, I’ve never…” Enjolras cleared his throat. “I’m not a…a fangbanger.”

Grantaire grinned and leaned in, closing his eyes and exaggeratedly inhaling Enjolras’s scent. “Ah well. More’s the pity.” Then he pulled away, his face becoming serious. “If you’re not a fangbanger, and if you have no intention of becoming one, you should be careful hanging out around vampires. Not all of us take consent as seriously as others.”

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” said Enjolras stiffly.

Grantaire started to retort, but just managed to hold his tongue. Instead he gave Enjolras a once-over that bordered on eye-fucking and said, “If I believed that of anyone, it’d be you.” Enjolras blushed even deeper and Grantaire inclined his head before taking off.

He didn’t look back, but if he had, he would have seen Enjolras staring after him, curious expression on his face.


	2. You Taste so Bitter and so Sweet

When Grantaire awoke the next night, it was to a summons, the kind of which he had not received in years. The district’s sheriff wanted a meeting. To be fair, the summons was addressed politely enough, as befit Grantaire’s age, but with a confidence in his subsequent response that spoke of a young vampire, a century or two old at most.

Grantaire wracked his brain, trying to remember who the sheriff of this district even was. Suddenly, a face flashed in his memory and he groaned. Montparnasse. Of course. Éponine’s ex. This was undoubtedly going to be an interesting meeting. He vaguely thought of asking Éponine accompany him, but thought better of it, since this _could_ be a friendly meeting (and bringing Éponine would ensure that it wasn’t).

Instead, he went on his own, calling over his shoulder that he was heading to Parnasse’s and to keep an ear open if he needed anything (he didn’t want to stay and see Éponine’s face at the mention of Montparnasse). He wondered only vaguely what Montparnasse wanted with him, especially now, since they had never associated much in the past.

He had, as was custom, made himself known to Montparnasse when first he arrived in the district. Normally the vampires that made their living in specific districts paid homage to the sheriff, giving a small token in exchange for living there (nowadays often in the form of business contributions or volunteering to help when the sheriff needed; back in the good old days, it typically came in the form of a human).

Grantaire had done no such thing when he moved here. For starters, he was older than Montparnasse, stronger than Montparnasse, and didn’t particularly give a fuck about offering his assistance towards anything Montparnasse would want from him. Instead, their meeting had been more of a curt exchange of courtesies, with the implication that if Montparnasse left Grantaire alone, Grantaire would not cause any problems.

And it had been a comfortable arrangement ever since, though when Éponine had torn through their house one night over a decade ago, crying and dripping blood everywhere, Grantaire had threatened to kill Montparnasse (or at least to pull his fangs out). Éponine had declined the offer, saying she would rather kill him herself (Grantaire had forbidden her from doing that, as retribution from the king - even a king as benevolent as Jean Valjean was - would be swift and terrible for the murder of a sheriff, no matter how much of a prick that sheriff happened to be).

So Grantaire did not know what to expect when he arrived at the rather sleazy-looking back alley bar that Patron-Minette. He certainly didn’t expect one of Montparnasse’s goons, the weedy-looking one that Grantaire _thought_ might be named Claquesous, to bow courteously to him and escort him inside.

If anything, that made Grantaire more suspicious.

His hackles were further raised when he saw that the tables and chairs had been mostly cleared out, save for Montparnasse’s chair, a velvet-covered high-backed armchair set up on a dais like a damn throne, and another, not nearly as comfortable-looking chair set facing it. Grantaire took the proffered seat without question, only raising his eyebrows slightly when Claquesous did not move from his position at Grantaire’s right shoulder, and then his eyes narrowed when he saw that two more of Montparnasse’s goons - Babet and Gueulemer - had entered the room, leaning against the wall and watching him.

Gueulemer cracked his knuckles and it took all of Grantaire’s will power not to roll his eyes.

So not a friendly meeting, after all, it seemed.

Though Grantaire was now outnumbered three-to-one, soon to be four-to-one when Montparnasse arrived, he was remarkably unconcerned. If it came to a fight, he could probably take all of them without breaking a sweat (so to speak, since vampires didn’t perspire).

Finally, after a few minutes sitting in uncomfortable silence, Montparnasse swept into the room, looking for all the world like a vampire off the cover of a bad romance novel, all dark hair slicked back and wearing black leather. He settled into his seat, looking down at Grantaire, a small smile on his face. “Ah, Grantaire. How good to see you. I trust my associates offered you every courtesy.”

“Montparnasse,” said Grantaire levelly, without inclining his head or showing any traditional sign of respect. “Your, what did you call them? Ah, _associates_ and I were getting along fine.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow, meeting Montparnasse’s gaze squarely. His goons didn’t scare Grantaire, but mentally, he called to Éponine, demanding her presence as back up. Just in case.

If Montparnasse noticed Grantaire’s lack of fear, he didn’t show it. “You’ve been busy avoiding us, Grantaire. When was the last time you had a night out with your kind?”

Grantaire chuckled awkwardly. The truth was that he hated the forced socializing between vampires in polite society, especially when polite society was deemed vampires of Patron-Minette’s ilk. “Well, as you say, I’ve been busy.”

Montparnasse’s grin turned feral. “Oh, yes. Busy attending human meetings, if my sources are correct.”

Every muscle in Grantaire’s body seemed to tense, though his face didn’t betray any emotion. So _that_ was what this meeting was about. He wondered why Patron-Minette cared about Les Amis de l’ABC, and more specifically, why his attendance would merit a personal meeting. “Human meetings?” he asked mildly, leaning back in his chair. “What human meetings?”

“Surely your memory isn’t that bad, old one.” Montparnasse’s fangs slid out. “You attended a meeting of Les Amis de l’ABC last night.”

Grantaire shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Though I do wonder why you’d be so concerned about it if I had.”

Montparnasse leaned forward in his seat. “We just find it curious that the great Grantaire emerged from his self-imposed exile to attend a meeting such as this. Almost as if you’re throwing your weight behind their movement. We thought that if you were starting to get political it may be best that we court your interest. Your political allegiance could prove very valuable.”

“My political allegiance isn’t for sale,” Grantaire said pleasantly, though his fangs started to extend in warning. “And my reasons for attending any meeting weren’t political, I promise you that.”

Raising an eyebrow, Montparnasse asked, “Oh?” His mouth curled into a grin. “Another enticement, perhaps? Of a more personal nature?”

Grantaire shrugged again, carelessly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Maybe we can match the personal enticements.”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped to Montparnasse’s, and he smiled. “I somehow doubt it.”

Montparnasse’s eyes glittered coldly in response. “Oh, really?” He gestured to Gueulemer. “Bring him out.”

Gueulemer smiled grimly and disappeared into the back, reemerging with Enjolras in tow. It took every bit of Grantaire's centuries of self-control to not leap up, to snatch Enjolras from Gueulemer's hands, to not go on a murderous rampage and kill every one of these vampires who had dared lay a finger on Enjolras.

To Enjolras's credit, he held his head high, only looking slightly shaken. Grantaire could see from where he sat that Enjolras hadn't been glamoured, which confused him for a moment - for one such as Enjolras did not seem apt to follow the whims of anyone - but then Grantaire saw the bruises just beginning to darken on Enjolras's wrists, bruises clearly from some kind of restraints.

And Grantaire felt his fangs start to extend in anger, because _how dare they_. He hadn't felt this angry in years, the anger coursing through his blood like fire, and he switched his gaze to Montparnasse, who looked _amused_ (Grantaire vowed to kill him first). "What's this?" Grantaire asked, just managing to keep his voice from being a furious growl.

“One of the humans in my employ found him passing out fliers outside for some kind of equal rights rally. He has your scent all over him.” Montparnasse prowled around Enjolras, reaching out to touch his cheek with one finger, grinning when Enjolras flinched. “Quite the specimen, isn’t he? And a very understandable reason to attend one of his little meetings. We thought he might make a good peace offering. Perhaps we could even share him.”

Grantaire stood, hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t think so, Montparnasse.”

“No?” asked Montparnasse, though his grin widened. “What a shame. I’ll just have to keep him all to myself."

A snarl ripped its way from Grantaire's throat as Montparnasse leaned in close to Enjolras, who flinched visibly "He's mine," Grantaire growled, his fangs sliding all the way out. Montparnasse smirked, reaching for Enjolras, but he froze as another ferocious snarl tore from Grantaire's throat. 

Every muscle in Grantaire's body was tensed, ready to spring, his fangs fully extended. He had  _centuries_  on this ignorant vamp, and he was ready to end him if he even laid a finger on Enjolras. Which Montparnasse knew, just as surely as did the rest of Patron-Minette, who were exchanging worried glances, surely contemplating if the three of them would be enough to contain Grantaire if he attacked Montparnasse.

Montparnasse hesitated for just a moment before shoving Enjolras at Grantaire. Enjolras stumbled slightly and Grantaire grabbed him to steady him, still glaring with fangs fully extended at Montparnasse, who looked wary, and perhaps even a little afraid. “Fine,” Montparnasse snapped. “But this won’t be the last you hear from us, Grantaire. You are a vampire, and you don’t belong in the human world. You know that better than anyone. When you tire of your plaything, we’ll still be here.” That said, he turned and swept into the back room, the other vampires following him, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone.

Enjolras turned to Grantaire, eyes wide. If Grantaire had been in full capacity of his senses, he would have heard Enjolras's heart racing, would have smelled the fear. "Grantaire?" Enjolras said, slowly and quietly, hands held in front of himself placatingly.

It took the better part of a minute for Grantaire to relax; it had been a long time since he had almost lost control of himself. He straightened, retracting his fangs enough to smile tightly at Enjolras. "Sorry you had to witness that." Then his expression turned concerned and he carefully grabbed Enjolras's hand, lifting it to trace the barely perceptible bruises darkening on Enjolras's wrist. "Are you alright?"

"About as well as could be expected," said Enjolras wryly, his voice surprisingly steady, and Grantaire couldn't help but admire his steadiness even in the face of all of this. He took a deep breath, then pulled his hand away from Grantaire. “What was that whole claiming me as yours thing about?”

Grantaire smiled grimly. “If a human is claimed by a vampire, another vampire may not feed on the human without the owner’s consent. It is a rule nearly as old as vampirism itself, and not even one such as Montparnasse would break that rule lightly.” He glanced around. “We should get out of here before Montparnasse and his thugs return. They will not harm you, not while I am here, but that may not stop them from trying to harm me.”

Enjolras shot him a look. “ _Trying_ to harm you?”

Grantaire’s fangs partially extended again, and his eyes were dark as he grinned. “Oh yes. Trying. They would not accomplish much, not even four against one.” Then his eyes flickered over to Enjolras and his smile dissipated. “But I would rather that you not witness that. It is not a sight for any human, even one as unflappable as you appear. Now come.”

He led Enjolras outside, where Enjolras frowned up at the dark sky and shivered, and Grantaire wondered how long they had kept him inside and wished for a fleeting moment that he was still warm-blooded so that he could put an arm around his shoulders to try and warm him.

But he was not. And so he didn’t.

After a long moment of standing awkwardly outside, Enjolras cleared his throat and frowned. “I had a question for you - how does this being ‘yours’ thing work? Am I yours forever now?”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “In vampiric practice, you are mine until I release you from my service, which in more archaic vampiric practice, would be when I killed you. For our purposes, you are not mine, not truly, save for keeping you safe from Montparnasse.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to raise an eyebrow at Grantaire. “What do you mean, not yours, not truly?”

Were Grantaire able to blush, he would have done so at this point. Instead, he cleared his throat and looked away. “A human who is claimed by a vampire is typically fed on by that vampire and also, typically, used for sexual activities, as blood and sex are intimately tied together in the vampire world.”

“And a different vampire cannot feed from or have sex with a claimed human?” asked Enjolras coolly.

Grantaire nodded. “Correct. Not without the owner vampire’s consent.”

Something in Enjolras’s voice had hardened. “The _owner’s_ consent? What about the human’s consent?”

Chuckling dryly, Grantaire said quietly, “I don’t think vampires care much for whether a human gives them consent. After all, I could just glamour you into thinking you want it.”

“That’s not the point,” Enjolras snapped. “This is...this isn’t a hypothetical. You _claimed_ me without even thinking about how I would feel, without even asking me how I felt about being claimed as yours, let alone being claimed in general.”

Grantaire stared at him, taken aback by his tone. “Are you seriously angry because I didn’t stop in the middle of that and _ask_ you if you were ok with the only tactic at my disposal to keep you safe?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes dismissively. “I understand that--” he started, but Grantaire cut him off.

"You understand  _nothing_ ," Grantaire growled, trying to keep his temper in check. "This may all be just a game for you, but you could have  _died_  today. Meddling in the world of vampires the way you do is not a joke. I did not jest yesterday when I noted the problems with human and vampire equality. Vampires do not view humans as anything more than walking blood bags, and they never will. I did what I had to do to keep you from becoming that which you did not wish to be."

Enjolras looked at him dubiously. "And that excuses you calling me 'yours' and claiming me as your own, as if I'm some kind of property?"

"Since it saved your life, I would think so," Grantaire retorted. He was filled with some inexplicable emotions, emotions he had not felt in a long time, and it took a moment to realize that, to put it bluntly, to put it _humanly_ , his feelings were hurt. Grantaire hadn’t cared about anything to be hurt over in so long that it took him by surprise, and made him angrier, anger he took out on Enjolras. “Are you angry because I _claimed_ you, or are you angry because _I_ claimed you? I could have left you to become Montparnasse’s and then I doubt any would have seen you again. You would have been passed from vampire to vampire in his little group, fed on and fucked, and all without your precious consent. If being claimed by me, knowing I have no intention to feed on you, is so terrible, you’re welcome to walk back in there and tell them I’ve relinquished my claim.”

Frowning deeper than ever, Enjolras made as if to reply, then stopped. "Why do you even care?" he asked quietly. "You've made it perfectly clear that you think what I do is worthless. Why would you care if I were to become some vampire's human, just another 'fangbanger', or if I died?"

Grantaire stared at him blankly. "I don't think what you do is worthless. I mean, ok, yes, I do, but, god, Enj, in all my centuries I've never felt..." He trailed off, his eyes unfathomable. "You deserve a better fate than that," he finished after a long moment.

Then he turned away so that Enjolras could not see his face as he told him coldly, "If you truly want to live long enough to do some good in this world, then stay away from vampires, Enjolras. Ours is not a world to be meddled with lightly."

He started to leave, but paused when Enjolras called after him. “You’re wrong. It’s not my life that is most important in this, but that the cause is furthered. If you think I wouldn’t die in the name of equality, you’re wrong. Because I would. But I don’t think I’ll have to. The world is changing, Grantaire, even if you refuse to see it, and equality and liberty are within our reach, if only more would be willing to try.” The words, “If only _you_ would be willing to try” hung unspoken in the air between them.

Turning back, Grantaire saw the way Enjolras had squared his shoulders, the stubborn set of Enjolras’s jaw, and the brightness shining in his eyes. Enjolras looking so...alive. And he felt almost winded, because this beautiful, noble, stupid, unbearably breakable human was going to end up dead, or worse, and was going to break Grantaire’s heart for it. So he twisted his mouth into a smile that looked more like a grimace and told him, “I hope, for your sake, that you are right”, and fled before Enjolras could see the tears of blood that had welled in Grantaire’s eyes.


	3. I Could Drink a Case of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but the next (and final) chapter will more than make up for it, I promise.

The next few weeks, Grantaire kept himself busy, continuing to attend Les Amis meetings as often as he could while he worked with Éponine to dig up any information that they could find on Montparnasse’s associations, business deals, and more, anything to help them take Montparnasse down, if it came to that.

Grantaire would follow the same routine for every meeting, buying a bottle of blood from the bar and taking it upstairs, where he would settle into a seat in the corner, watching Enjolras, who would not acknowledge his presence, though his face would color, and a muscle would work in his jaw.

Then during the meeting, Grantaire would call out comments when the conversation merited it, which was equal parts when someone had said something worth correcting and when Enjolras hadn't looked over at him for a few minutes. He paid attention to Enjolras's reaction, to the way he would purse his lips thoughtfully when Grantaire said something of merit, or the way his ears would flame red when Grantaire made a sardonic comment.

At the end of every meeting, Grantaire would drain his bottle, incline his head toward Enjolras, and leave, all while Enjolras stared after him, expression unreadable.

And Grantaire told himself that he was only going to these meetings to keep an eye on Enjolras, to ensure that his scent still lingered on Enjolras so that if any of Patron-Minette were to check, it would appear that Grantaire's claim was still intact. He told himself that he did not care about their stupid cause, and only looked after Enjolras because it was his fault Enjolras was in this situation.

He told himself that it had nothing to do with the mess of emotions that seemed to snarl in his chest when he looked at Enjolras, emotions that surprisingly had very little to do with lusting after Enjolras's body or blood - though make no mistake, he wanted both - but had more to do with the everything Enjolras was, and everything he wasn't, how he was smart and courageous and strong and fierce , but also impatient, occasionally unkind, headstrong, uncompromising...

These were the things Grantaire dwelled upon, for the first time in centuries even dreaming while he slept during the day, dreams of blond curls, of fire and anger and freedom, such freedom, but also dreams, daymares, really, of those blond curls matted with blood, those fierce eyes staring at him lifelessly.

And when he wasn't dreaming and wasn't at Les Amis meetings, he still could not get Enjolras off of his mind. He found himself sketching for the first time since he was in Paris (which had been some point in the 18th century), and even bought a set of paints. Even Éponine noticed, though she took care not to say much.

Still, one night when Grantaire was pouring over Montparnasse's financial records from a few years back, Éponine sat down next to him, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. "I hate to say it," she told him, frowning slightly at the hunch of his shoulders, "but you were actually less boring when all you did was sit around and mope."

Grantaire frowned, not looking up. "Ha ha," he said dryly, though her words stung with a certain truth.

"Why do you care?" Éponine asked softly, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice. "You've never cared this much about a human before."

Though his first instinct was to deny it, to say this had nothing to do with Enjolras and everything to do with Montparnasse, he couldn't find it in himself to do so. Instead, Grantaire shrugged moodily and told her the truth. "There's never been a human worth caring about this much before."

Éponine left it there, but what Grantaire had said haunted him. He had been a vampire for longer than he cared to think about, and had scorned the company of humans for almost as long - he felt that glamouring unnecessarily was distasteful, and since humans could barely stand to be in the company of vampires without being glamoured, he had spent most of his centuries on his own, roving through Europe until he had made his way to the States.

When he had arrived in the States, after he had gotten settled, he had felt lonely for the first time in a long time, and he had done what he had deemed necessary, finding a sad, pathetic street girl and turning her into a vampire. Éponine had been his best friend ever since, staying with him through all the years (though they had almost had a falling out over her decision to turn Marius).

But through it all, he had never spent more time than necessary in the company of humans, always feeling himself to be the way they saw him - a monster. Never spent more time than necessary - until now.

He had not lied to Éponine when he said that there had never been a human worth caring about before Enjolras. He had taken blood when he needed it, and, on very rare occasion, physical gratification, but he had never felt this way for anyone, be it vampire or human. He had long since given up the foolish dream harbored by newly turned vampires of somehow being cured, being returned to their human state, had accepted his vampirism, but now...now he almost wished to be human again, Enjolras’s stuttered words, “ _I’m not a...a fangbanger_ ” ringing in his ears.

And Grantaire huffed out a mix between a growl and a sigh, running a hand through his hair, looking unseeingly at the spread of papers before him on his desk, wishing not for the first time that something - anything - could take his mind off of things. Drugs and alcohol didn’t work for vampires, though, and Grantaire snarled in frustration, brushing the papers off his desk with one sweep of his arm.

He had to get out of the house.

Without bothering to tell anyone where he was going, he left, going into town, formulating half-thoughts of finding some fangbanger and feeding and fucking and clearing his mind for at least half an hour. On his way into the city, though, he picked up a familiar scent, one of Patron-Minette, Gueulemer, he thought, and perhaps despite his better judgment, he followed it. It did not head in the way Grantaire would have thought, winding through the streets towards...

Grantaire froze, just for a moment, because Gueulemer’s scent was headed toward the Musain, and that could not be a coincidence. And Grantaire’s sole thought was for Enjolras, for the number of nights Enjolras could be found in the back room of the Musain, hunched over a table, working on something or other for Les Amis, and Grantaire could just see him look up at the sound of someone coming through the door, eyes widening at the sight of Gueulemer, and then Grantaire was running faster than he ever had before, literally flying through the streets.

The scent strengthened, as did the familiar scent of Enjolras, and what heart Grantaire might have had would have pounding with fear, with knowing that he _hadtogettoEnjolrashadtogettoEnjolrashadtogettoEnjolras_. And there, _there_ , there was Enjolras, just leaving the Musain, papers tucked under his arm, and just when Grantaire was about to call to him, he saw Gueulemer lurking in the shadows, approaching Enjolras, reaching out a hand to grab Enjolras's shoulder, and instead, Grantaire let out a snarl, fangs extended, and he threw himself toward Gueulemer.

Gueulemer saw him and let out a snarl of his own, practically throwing Enjolras out of his way and against the wall of the Musain as he turned to face Grantaire. Grantaire watched in horror as Enjolras hit the wall and slumped to the ground, lying still, and he flew at Gueulemer in a rage. Their scuffle was brief, as it would have been even without the fury that burned through Grantaire’s veins, and he only just managed to stop from snapping Gueulemer’s head off. Gueulemer stared up at him, wide-eyed and panting, and croaked, “Mercy...”

It took a long moment for Grantaire to calm down enough to not kill him, though he still held his windpipe in a stranglehold. Then, coldly, almost dispassionately, he reached down and with two agonizing _pop_ s, pulled both of Gueulemer’s fangs out, ignoring Gueulemer's anguished shrieks of pain, tossing them on the ground when he was done. Then he lifted Gueulemer, holding him up so that their eyes were level, and snarled, “Tell Montparnasse that this isn’t over. He comes after mine, and I will go after him. Understood?”

Gueulemer nodded, almost sobbing, and fled as soon as Grantaire released him. Ordinarily Grantaire would have pursued to ensure he did as Grantaire had ordered, but right now his own concern was for Enjolras.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire’s voice was panicked as he saw Enjolras lying limply on the ground, unmoved since Gueulemer threw him against the side of the bar. Grantaire flew to Enjolras’s side, rolling him over carefully, using every one of his heightened senses to evaluate Enjolras’s injuries: bruising, broken ribs, broken arm, those were standard, those would heal on their own, given time. But Grantaire could not tell if Enjolras had hit his head, if there was damage that even he could not pick up on, and he hesitated for only a moment before biting his wrist, drawing his own blood to the surface, and holding the wound up to Enjolras’s mouth, murmuring, “Here, drink this. It will...it will heal you. Come on, Enjolras, drink, please.”

Enjolras’s head lolled slightly as Grantaire shifted him into a better position, and he groaned, “Gran...taire...”

Grantaire closed his eyes, smoothing Enjolras’s hair almost desperately with his other hand, and urged, his voice cracking, “Drink this, and you’ll feel better, I promise. Please Enjolras. Please.”

Tentatively, Enjolras tasted Grantaire’s blood, recoiling at first, but then he seemed to latch on as his body accepted it. Grantaire tried not to grip Enjolras even tighter, tried not to show how much he really, really liked this - God, this was an _incredible_ sensation - because now was neither the time nor the place to get distracted. He could not afford to be distracted now. He focused instead on listening to the cracks in Enjolras’s ribs seal, to Enjolras’s left humerus realign, to - there - the blood clot that he almost hadn’t noticed in Enjolras’s brain dissipate.  

Of course, while Grantaire knew that vampire blood healed humans, he had forgotten - had never experienced it to know - the bond that formed between vampire and human after drinking a vampire’s blood, especially in that quantity. It had not been his intention to forge a bond of this nature, not now, not like this, but it was already done, and he could _feel_ what Enjolras was feeling, his confusion, his fear, his gratefulness to Grantaire, and, just there, just slightly, something _deeper_ , something _more_.

Something that Grantaire could not face, not then, not like that.

When Enjolras was done, his last broken bone realigning, Grantaire swallowed hard and stood, pulling Enjolras upright, setting him on his feet and backing away, away from what he had just done, away from what he had just felt. “Are you alright?” he asked carefully.

“I am now,” said Enjolras, slowly, as if he could barely believe it. “I...thank you. For saving me. For the second time.”

Though Grantaire managed a shaky smile, and even managed to joke, “I’m not so sure the first time counted,” he took another step backwards, almost frightened by the strength of emotions he could feel surging within Enjolras. “You...you’re going to feel a little strange for a bit,” he said, calmly as he could manage. “Euphoric, strong, possibly a bit like you’re on drugs. It will fade in a few hours. I caution you not to do anything stupid in the interim.”

Then he fled, feeling for all the world like a coward, but he could not face that accusation in Enjolras’s eyes when he realized what Grantaire had done, had forged without his permission. Even without Enjolras realizing, Grantaire still could not face the feelings that had welled in Enjolras’s chest - or in his own, it was hard to tell - the feelings he could not dare to believe, the look in Enjolras’s eyes as he had looked at Grantaire. He could not face the faint fluttering in his chest of what could only be described as hope.

He could not face any of it.


	4. I Would Still be on my Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to everyone who's read this! You can always find me on [Tumblr](kjack89.tumblr.com).

Grantaire avoided Les Amis for the next several days, focusing fully on ensuring Montparnasse’s downfall, spurred on even more by Gueulemer’s attempted attack, gathering all the evidence he could of Montparnasse’s various wrongdoings. And if he occasionally felt a pang of confusion or inexplicable sadness that did not belong to him, he ignored it. Or tried to, at least.

It was easier said than done, ignoring feelings that did not fully belong to him. Sudden surges of passion and anger were mostly unfamiliar to Grantaire – though he had felt his own share of passion these past few weeks, which made it all the worse feeling Enjolras’s. And then there were the flashes, brief and fleeting, of loneliness, of questioning, and of that _something_ that Grantaire could not think about, did not want to think about (because doing so would be a mistake, dwelling on what could never be would be a mistake).

So he threw himself into his work even more so than before, and then, when he was ready, when he had done all he could, he did something he had never once done in all of his centuries of being a vampire - he requested an audience with the king.

He received his summons to the king’s mansion for his requested audience only a few days later, and he was surprised to find that he had been granted an audience for the following day, which was unusual – vampire politics were not typically so expedient. The summons were not the only unusual thing he received that day, however; he also had an unexpected visitor in the form of Enjolras, who showed up outside his door in the early hours of the morning.

When Grantaire saw him, he had to physically bite back the emotions that rose unbidden in his chest, the desire to draw Enjolras to him, to breathe in his scent, to bite that beautiful neck, and instead asked, before anything else, “How did you find out where I lived?

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “I have my sources,” he said coolly, and Grantaire grimaced.

“Joly.”

Though Enjolras smiled slightly, he neither confirmed nor denied that assumption, instead asking, “May I come in? I think we need to talk.”

Grantaire’s eyes darted around, looking inside the house and then back, and he murmured, “It would perhaps be best if you said what you needed to outside. Come.” And he led Enjolras around the corner of the porch, to where an ancient porch swing still stood.

Enjolras sat down and looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

“That...may not be wise,” said Grantaire, trying not to let Enjolras’s proximity throw him. He had been unaware of how strong the bond could be, and was equally unaware if it was really the bond or his own feelings for Enjolras that led him to want nothing more than sit beside him and kiss him senseless. But as he had said, that may not be wise.

Though Enjolras frowned, he said nothing more about that, instead looking down at his hands, something almost shy coming over him. “You’ve been avoiding Les Amis meetings.”

Grantaire cleared his throat slightly and smiled weakly. “I thought it might not be wise to continue my attendance.”

Enjolras nodded, though not in understanding, something questioning in his expression. “I...when you rescued me the other night, you gave me some of your blood, and it healed me.” There was a question in the statement and Grantaire nodded wordlessly. “Did it...did it do anything else?”

This was the moment Grantaire had dreaded, but he forced himself to look Enjolras in the eye as he said softly, “There is a bond forged between a human who drinks a vampire’s blood and the vampire whose blood the human drinks, a bond...between their souls, or so it’s said.”

Enjolras sat very still, his expression unreadable. “And what does this bond entail?”

Grantaire closed his eyes, just briefly. “I can feel some of the things you feel, especially when you are hurt or in danger. I can tell your relative proximity to me at all times. You can probably feel a little bit of what I feel, though not the extent that I can feel what you feel, more just a glimmer.” After a long moment, and almost against his better judgment, he added, “It can cause or heighten certain romantic or sexual feelings between the vampire and human.”

Silence spread between them for a long moment as Enjolras’s gaze turned introspective, though Grantaire was surprised - and relieved more than words could say - that he did not appear angry. Finally, he looked up at Grantaire and asked quietly, “Is it permanent?”  

“If you were to continue drinking my blood, and especially if I were to drink yours, the bond would strengthen with time, and could even become permanent,” said Grantaire, softly, not meeting Enjolras’s eyes. “If you do not consume any more of my blood, the bond will eventually fade. I...I am sorry, again, for doing to you something against your will, without your consent, even if it was to save your life, and I understand if you never want to see me again or—”

Enjolras reached out, wrapping a hand around Grantaire’s wrist as he said quickly, “I don’t.” Grantaire’s eyes flashed up to his, hurt written on his face, and Enjolras, realizing what he said, quickly amended, “I mean, I _do_ still want to see you. I don’t...I don’t want the bond to fade.”

Grantaire just stared at him, and Enjolras flushed and looked down, swallowing hard. “I...I can’t explain it, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone. And it was before I drank your blood, before the bond, but you...I...”

He trailed off, and Grantaire just kept staring at him. Even without the bond, he would have known that every word Enjolras spoke was true, but it was harder to deny it when he could feel Enjolras’s complete sincerity. After a long moment, he croaked, “How long?”

“I’m sorry?” Enjolras asked, not understanding the question.

“How long have you...felt...the way you feel?”

Blushing even deeper, Enjolras looked down at the ground. “Um, probably since you told me that I was laughably naïve.”

Grantaire blinked, taken aback, and then his mouth curved into a grin, a genuine grin, and he laughed, sitting down next to Enjolras. “ _That_ was it? That was the moment that you knew that you...”

“Liked you?” Enjolras supplied, flashing Grantaire a grin of his own. “Yeah. I mean, I’m sure it’s not...the moment most people would have picked, and probably not the stuff that great romance is made of, but no one...no one’s ever grinned at me the way you did, calling me naïve, laughing at me, and I wanted to...I don’t know, punch you in the face and then explain everything that was wrong with what you said, and all the while I wanted to be...kissing you...and...yeah.”

He had gone scarlet at that, clearly sharing more than he had intended, and Grantaire’s grin softened. “To be fair, I thought about kissing you a lot that night as well,” he said, softly.

Enjolras’s eyes met his and he said, quietly, as if unwilling to believe it, “Oh?”

“Yes. And pretty much every night since.”

They both just looked at each for a moment, for a long moment, and neither seemed sure of what to do or to say next, but then Grantaire’s eyes flickered to the horizon, and he sighed deeply. “It’s going to be sunrise soon,” he said, a little mournfully.

Enjolras looked surprised that Grantaire knew that, then nodded in understanding. “Um. Right. So...I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Grantaire bit his lip and looked at him, long and hard. Then he nodded. “Sure. I have somewhere to go tomorrow, something to do, but I...I want you to come with me. If you want, at least. It will...help with Les Amis.”

Looking even more surprised, Enjolras nodded and said, “Um, sure. So I’ll...meet you here, then?”

“Yes. Tomorrow at 8pm. Kindly do not be late.”

Enjolras’s lips quirked into a smirk - for he was _never_ late, unlike Grantaire, who was known to stroll into Les Amis meetings when the mood suited, regardless of time - but just nodded. “I’ll be here.”

He started to leave but Grantaire grabbed his hand. “Wait, I...” He trailed off, looking into Enjolras’s eyes, wanting to tell him so many things, but having no idea of what to say or where even to start. Instead, he swallowed hard and brought Enjolras’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Then he watched Enjolras leave, and prayed that things would go according to plan tomorrow.

* * *

 

Time-wise, things appeared to be on track, with Enjolras arriving on time, curiously watching as Marius drove them to the king’s mansion (Grantaire had, of course, never learned to drive, as he had been over 800 years old when cars had been invented, and since he could fly and run at speeds that could outstrip any vehicle, he did not see the need to learn). However, with Enjolras in tow, it seemed prudent to not run the entire way with Enjolras in his arms (tempting though that may be).

Once they arrived, Enjolras looked around. “Where are we?” he asked, something like awe and raw curiosity in his voice as he took in the opulent setting (as well as the heavily armed guards).

Grantaire took his arm and steered him through the front door. “We are in the mansion of King Jean Valjean.”

“ _King_ —” Enjolras started, though he was cut off by security, who patted both of them down, checking for weapons.

The main security guard’s eyes flicked lazily over them both as he wrote their names in the log book. “Is the human a gift for the king?”

Grantaire’s grip on Enjolras’s arm tightened, and though Enjolras looked affronted, he managed to not say anything. “No, he is not a gift,” Grantaire said coolly.

Then, with a flick of the valet’s fingers, Grantaire and Enjolras were escorted into the main room, where Valjean was waiting. To his surprise, Grantaire’s eyes picked out not only Montparnasse but all of Patron-Minette milling in the normal crowd of vampires that were part of the king’s retinue, and he tensed. He had not intended on having this conversation with an audience.

Valjean stood, opening his arms in welcome. “Grantaire. Welcome to you, and to your companion. We have not yet seen you in these halls, and I am glad you have come today.”

Grantaire bowed, almost chuckling when he saw Enjolras remain resolutely upright (in one of their many conversations, they had discussed the idea of vampire rights and equality within the vampiric political system, which was inherently hierarchical, and he knew that Enjolras did not approve of a non-democratically elected head of government, though he acknowledged the vampires’ right to select their own method of governance). When he straightened, Grantaire said, “Good evening, Your Grace. Thank you for making the time to meet with me, and with such expedience.”

Settling back in his chair, Valjean said dismissively, “For vampires of our age, speed is not normally something we concern ourselves with, this I know. But to receive request for an audience from you told me that this could be a serious matter.”

“It is,” said Grantaire, squaring his shoulders. “I have come to you today to petition Your Grace.”

Valjean looked intrigued. “What is it that you want, Grantaire? You have not come to me with petition before this. I thought you had mostly eschewed our system.”

“I had, Your Grace,” said Grantaire, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “But recently…well, one might say I’ve had a change of heart.”

Valjean looked downright curious, as much as a vampire who was over a thousand years old could be, but Grantaire only had eyes for Enjolras as he turned to face him, ignoring every single other being in the tense room. "You asked me once why I wasn't a king," Grantaire said slowly and softly, his eyes not leaving Enjolras's. "I'm not a king because I never wanted to be part of that system. I never wanted to be a part of the status quo, and I never wanted to fight it because it wasn't worth it to me. But then...but then I met you." Enjolras blinked in surprise, but didn't say anything. Grantaire broke his gaze to glance around the room, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. "And for the first time in almost 900 years, I started to think that maybe it would be worth it. To challenge the status quo. To try and change things."

“And that is why I’m here today,” he continued, turning to face Valjean. “Not to challenge for your kingship, as I am neither that vain nor that ambitious nor, frankly, that stupid. But to challenge Montparnasse to be sheriff of this Area. Not only has Montparnasse physically threatened those under my protection, but has perpetrated a variety of crimes against your own laws. I believe he is unfit to continue as sheriff, and I believe I could do far better than him.” He paused, then added, “I would stake my life on that.”

The mood in the room instantly changed, as uneasy glances were exchanged and whispers broke out. Valjean raised a hand and silence fell. “You are self-avowed as being apolitical, Grantaire,” he said mildly. “What do you think you will bring to this Area as sheriff that Montparnasse does not?”

Grantaire smiled grimly. “Ignoring the immediate cessation of illegal activities perpetrated by Patron-Minette, the political actions of the Area would be more in line with the politics of your kingdom.”

“How so?” asked Valjean.

Now Grantaire’s smile widened, and he made a mental note to thank Éponine for the intel she had gathered for this precise moment. “Sire, over the past several years you have moved your kingdom forward, bringing it more in line with mainstream views of vampirism, outlawing certain of the old customs, keeping a good face on us. At the same time you have used your tremendous political power as leverage to secure increased equality for the vampires that live within your kingdom. But the politics of this Area have been lacking in that regard, in large part due to Montparnasse, who has long pursued his own agenda.”

Pausing to look directly at Montparnasse, Grantaire continued, “Montparnasse has used Patron-Minette and the legitimate business associates he has gained through being sheriff to perpetrate a variety of crimes, the least of which being the illegal distribution of vampire blood to humans, the worst of which being the ritual murder of humans for vampiric amusement. I have proof of these crimes, concrete evidence of the worst kind of dereliction of duty by Montparnasse. Whereas you have moved the kingdom forward, Montparnasse has kept this Area back from modernization.” Grantaire squared his shoulders. “Were I sheriff, I would bring the Area back in line with the aims and goals of your kingdom.”

Valjean tapped his chin contemplatively with one finger, expression carefully neutral. “You say you have proof?” he asked, voice calm.

Grantaire inclined his head. “I do, Your Grace. And I am willing to challenge on the basis on the evidence I’ve collected.”

Still Valjean stared at him, eyes unfathomable as they seemed to sear into Grantaire’s soul. Grantaire waited, every muscle in his body tense, knowing that Valjean was the arbiter of whether Grantaire had grounds to challenge. “You have wasted your time,” he said finally, pausing when one of Montparnasse’s goons let out a triumphant hiss. “You have wasted your time hiding in the shadows, my friend, when you were meant for so much more than that. Your petition has been granted, with a caveat.”

The tension in the room seemed to grow, as this was not standard procedure. Valjean surveyed both Montparnasse and Grantaire coolly. “From what I know of you, Grantaire, and I know far more than you are aware of, this is not something you would do without great cause. And I would not have blood shed on account of this. My word is final, and I will not see this challenge unfold unnecessarily. Instead, effective immediately, you will serve as sheriff of this Area.”

Shocked silence fell in the room, until Valjean added, “And Montparnasse, you shall be remanded into custody until veracity of your fulfillment of duties as sheriff can be verified.”

Then the room seemed to explode with conversation and disbelief as guards moved in to flank Montparnasse, who was glaring at Grantaire with something like hatred. “This is not over, Grantaire,” he snapped, pulling his arm from the grip of the guard.

Grantaire just smiled sweetly at him. “I think it is.” He also grinned at Gueulemer, who was scowling at him, and extended his fangs on purpose, grinning wider when Gueulemer clapped a hand over his own mouth.

Then he turned back to Enjolras, who was looking at him, thoroughly confused, something unreadable on his face and in his emotions that even through their bond Grantaire could not fathom. “I know I should have probably, you know, discussed this with you first,” Grantaire started, awkwardly. “I am used to operating alone after so many years, and I hope you know that I did not do this solely for you, that I did it also for myself, and—”

Enjolras cut him off by leaning in and kissing him squarely on the lips. Grantaire felt his fangs extend and he opened his mouth with a groan as Enjolras practically licked his way into it. It took far more effort than Grantaire expected to not bite down on Enjolras’s probing tongue, to pierce his fragile skin and drink that sweet blood, but he just managed to not do so, instead snaking his hands around Enjolras’s waist to pull their hips closer together.

Kissing Enjolras was everything he had ever hoped for, and though he longed to sink his fangs into Enjolras skin, to drink the blood he could practically taste as it sang just below the thin surface, he refrained, though he deepened the kiss as much as he dared. After a long moment, he heard someone clear his throat, and he broke away from Enjolras, the flood of sound from the room around them fading back in, and Grantaire grinned, almost sheepishly.

“Not to, ah, distract you, Grantaire, but we have a few things to discuss.” Valjean’s voice was more amused than anything, and Grantaire grinned, kissing Enjolras just once more and turning to Valjean.

“If it pleases you, let me send my partner home, and then I will be all yours for the rest of the evening.” When Valjean nodded, looking as amused as he had sounded, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’s hand and led him outside, where Marius was waiting with the car.

Grantaire turned to face Enjolras, smiling at him. “I have business to attend to here tonight, but may I see you tomorrow?”

Enjolras grinned as well. “Yeah, I think that will work.” He looked thoughtfully over Grantaire’s shoulder at the mansion behind him. “Do you think you could put a good word in about Les Amis’ efforts with the king?”

Laughing, Grantaire pulled Enjolras close and kissed him.  “I can try. We shall see. In the meantime, tomorrow...?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” agreed Enjolras, kissing Grantaire once more before stepping away towards the car. He paused, just for a moment, then said, quietly, almost awkwardly, “I just want you to know, I...I’m proud of you. Of what you did today.”

Grantaire was speechless for a moment. And then he smiled, and for just a moment, he felt almost human again, warmth spreading through him and tingling all the way to his fingers and toes, and he surged forward to kiss Enjolras, roughly, fiercely, and sloppily, feeling for all the world that he was the same age as he looked (as he had looked for the past 850 years). Enjolras laughed slightly and kissed him back, then got in the car, and Grantaire watched him drive away.

Then he grinned, again, and turned to go back inside. He had work to do.  

* * *

 

The first Les Amis meeting following Grantaire’s promotion to sheriff, and of course, he and Enjolras getting together, seemed to be the same as normal, Grantaire sitting in the back, pointing out flaws and inconsistencies. At the same time, it was immeasurably different, Enjolras smiling slightly whenever Grantaire spoke, and Grantaire actually trying to be helpful instead of disruptive (emphasis, of course, was on trying, as he still enjoyed the way Enjolras turned red far too much to completely stop).

And, of course, there was the telltale fang marks on Enjolras’s neck that Grantaire _had_ offered to heal, but to his immense satisfaction, Enjolras had refused, and whenever Grantaire saw the dark circles on Enjolras’s neck, he could not help but grin.

Once the meeting was over, when Grantaire had finished his blood and was about to make his way over to Enjolras, who was deep in discussion with Courfeyrac, Combeferre walked over and stood in front of Grantaire. “So. You and Enjolras.”

Without changing his expression, Grantaire nodded. “Me and Enjolras.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Combeferre to continue.

And continue Combeferre did. “He’s not immortal,” he warned, “and he’s never done this before - any of this.” Combeferre crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked levelly at Grantaire. “If you hurt him—” he started, but Grantaire cut him off, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Let me guess, you’ll hurt me?” The idea of Combeferre hurting him for hurting Enjolras would have been almost sweet were it not for the fact that Combeferre was, well, human.

Combeferre smiled grimly as if he had followed Grantaire’s train of thought. “No, our friend Bahorel will.”

Grantaire followed his gaze to see a hulking figure who was grinning and cracking his knuckles. Even from across the room Grantaire knew what he was. “You have a friend who’s a Were. Why am I not surprised?”

Combeferre’s grin widened. “We’re an equal opportunity bunch here, though we’d appreciate you keeping that information quiet.”

“Of course,” Grantaire said, inclining his head as he looked carefully at Bahorel. “But as Sheriff, I should extend my courtesies to the Were and shifter communities. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

Though Combeferre looked slightly taken aback when Grantaire smiled at him, he quickly nodded and said, returning Grantaire’s tone, “Of course.”

Grantaire smiled sweetly at Bahorel, who grinned wider, then headed to Enjolras, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and kissing him lightly on the neck. “Hello,” he murmured, his voice a low growl in Enjolras’s ear, grinning when Enjolras shivered against him. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

Enjolras turned around and kissed him squarely before sighing, “Sadly, I have work to do here tonight.”

Shrugging, Grantaire kissed him again. “No worries; I have things to attend to downtown tonight anyway, but I’ll be back before you go to sleep.”

Enjolras’s hand gripped the back of Grantaire’s head, tangling in his curls. “Promise?” he asked, mostly joking, but Grantaire kissed him on the lips again anyway.

“Promise.”

* * *

 

When he woke early in the evening one night, Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at nothing in particular. He used to dread waking up, facing another of the unending nights. Now he could not wait to wake, to see Enjolras, and though Enjolras did still spend most of his evenings working on things for Les Amis, the rest of his evenings were spent with Grantaire (since Grantaire used the nights when Enjolras was busy to attend to his own duties as Sheriff - though luckily that included maintaining good relations with the various vampire rights activist groups, so Grantaire’s attendance at Les Amis meetings was just his _duty_ , after all).

Most of all, though, Grantaire was busier than he had been in centuries, and, most importantly, the happiest he had been...probably ever.

And so when Grantaire woke up on one of the nights that he and Enjolras both had the night off, he roused and dressed himself in a flash, making it to Enjolras’s apartment in record time, letting himself in, divesting himself of his clothes and sliding under the sheets of Enjolras’s bed all in the time it took Enjolras to brush his teeth. Enjolras was only slightly startled when he came out of the bathroom, but then he grinned, and climbed into bed with Grantaire, kissing him. “Good evening.”

“You mean good morning,” corrected Grantaire before kissing him again.

“It may be morning for you, but it’s evening for the rest of the world,” Enjolras reminded him, though he pressed a kiss to his jaw, fingers tracing down Grantaire’s chest. “But regardless, I’m glad to see you.”

Though they had done this many times before, Grantaire couldn’t stop the strange fluttering in his chest as his fangs extended. He closed his eyes and shuddered appreciatively as Enjolras’s hands traced even lower, leaning in to press a close-mouthed kiss against the veins pulsating faintly in Enjolras’s neck. “I love you,” he murmured.

“And I love you,” said Enjolras, pressing a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head.

Grantaire couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, and he kissed Enjolras’s neck again. "Fangbanger," he mouthed against the taut skin of Enjolras's neck.

Though Enjolras laughed lightly, he tipped Grantaire's face up so that their eyes met. "No," he whispered, kissing Grantaire gently on the lips. "I just happened to fall in love with a vampire. There's a big difference."

"Mmm, you say potato, I say po-tah-to," whispered Grantaire, though his eyes lit up at Enjolras's casual mention of falling in love. Then he grinned and bit into Enjolras's neck.


End file.
